


blue eyes and lullabies

by contagiousiridescence



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Identity Reveal, anyway ya girl had a hard time cutting this down to acceptable word count, everyone yelled at me cause it was too sad at first oops, lena has FEELINGS, some fluff at the end??, supercorpzine vol 2 contribution, why do I always write the same story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 23:20:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19733737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contagiousiridescence/pseuds/contagiousiridescence
Summary: Lullabies are supposed to be sweet and innocent. So why does this one hurt so bad?--Lena figures out Kara is Supergirl and attempts to confront her; feelings abound.





	blue eyes and lullabies

She hasn’t knocked on the door yet. 

Staring at the peep-hole, Lena wonders if anyone is standing on the other side of it, staring back. 

The hallway is silent, like the doors lining the walls are watching her and holding a breath. Like the world outside of the complex has wound down to a pause, waiting to see the next twist in Lena’s life, witnesses to the inevitable downfall she’s always been hurtling toward. 

She doesn’t feel anything now. It’s a practiced sensation, artificial and pervasive. Everything Lillian taught her has forced those iron boxes as far down as she can stretch. Only numbness fills the void left behind when Lena nails the lids down on every last coffin of emotion she might ever feel again.

When the whisper of an unfamiliar melody trickles in through her memory, she ignores the crack in the iron and does her best to think of any other damn song but  _ that  _ one. 

The one she can’t repeat because the inflection is foreign to her human tongue. The one carried on by the voice crafted from crystallized starshine and frayed at the edges by raw, human emotion. The one that makes Lena think of lullabies sung to children to soothe nightmares, like an old memory she can’t quite grasp.

The one Supergirl had sang. Bowed low over an unconscious Alex, the twist of pain in her face not from the bloodied split in her temple. The song had trembled from bruised lips in thick, wavering notes and words that burned unrecognized in Lena’s ears. 

She can’t stop thinking about that damn song, no matter how far she tries to push it out of her mind. 

When the door pulls back, Kara is smiling that soft, easy smile. “Lena!” 

Despite herself, Lena tries to match the cadence of Kara’s voice to the one she heard pouring over Alex like a prayer. Lena searches her face for glimpses of that tortured alien, but there are no cuts, no bruises, nothing more than the twinkle of sweet blue eyes behind black-framed glasses. When Lena doesn’t say anything right away, a small frown dips at the corner of Kara’s mouth. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yes, of course,” Lena says, feigning a smile, ignoring the pinch to her chest at the effort. “I was just checking in. How’s Alex?”

“She’s doing better,” Kara says, smiling that grateful, gentle smile of hers. “Thankfully.”

Lena follows Kara inside and pretends that the apartment walls aren’t shrinking down around her with every step.

They sit on Kara’s couch. A nervous energy hums just under Lena’s skin, warring between blazing anger and cold resignation. She doesn’t know if she has the strength to say it, to tear down the last remaining scaffolds holding up their friendship when she knows it’s already doomed to fall. Not when there are secrets like this, and not when there are more still waiting for Lena to confess. 

But is it betrayal simply because she discovered the truth before Supergirl did, if Lena has her own demons to hide? Who, then, was really at fault for lies and untruths, if they were trapped in a web of deceit woven from both of their hands?

One of those iron boxes rattles in Lena’s chest, and she grips her fists tight, nails digging into her palm to keep the roar of feeling subdued. 

“Kara,” she tries, and it surprises her how steadily the name falls from her mouth. “I have something to tell you.” And in that moment her heart contracts hard in her chest, because there are so many things Lena could say now-- so many different words, so many different iron boxes threatening to burst open and consume her.

Kara’s expression falls, and for a split second Lena can see her; the hero hidden behind the mask, the starlight eyes and noble sculpt of a face born galaxies beyond, the weight of dying suns and dead planets bearing down on the soul pretending to be human. It all snaps into place like the release of a rubber band.

And strangely, Lena isn’t surprised. She simply blinks. It feels as though Supergirl had been hiding in shadow, lurking just beyond the edge of light, of truth, toeing the line and waiting until Lena sought out the shape in the darkness. On some level, she might have always known that presence had been lingering there. A ghost haunting just outside the corner of her vision.

Kara, to her credit, appears slightly apprehensive-- a little scared, if Lena has to guess. 

“Sure,” Kara says softly, and she places her hands over Lena’s. The contact spreads heat up her arm, and Lena can’t figure out if she should shrug off the touch or burn under it. “You can tell me anything, Lena.”

And Lena wants to laugh. She feels that harsh, terrible sound bubble up in her throat, but keeps her teeth clenched around it.

Slowly, Lena pulls away from Kara and lifts her hands. She can’t form the words on her tongue without dissolving into tears that threaten to eat her from the inside out, like acid pooling hot and aching behind her eyes. 

Kara is still. Lena thinks she’ll move, she’ll twitch just out of reach with some half-babbled excuse at the last moment, but those blue eyes are sharp and piercing behind clear panes of glass, and it’s so absurd that no one can figure out who those eyes belong to when the depth of them is as fathomless as deep space. She feels like a fool, knowing that two pieces of polycarbonate was all it took to delude Lena into believing Kara Danvers was just that. 

Kara still doesn’t move when Lena’s fingers come to rest against the sides of her glasses, but Lena can feel the moment the breath catches in Kara’s lungs, the way the tension grows taut just under her skin. They’re close-- Lena leans into Kara’s space, eye-level and rigid and  _ daring  _ the woman in her hands to break loose. But she remains a statue when Lena slowly drags the frames from Kara’s face, and this time, without the barrier to flicker doubt through Lena’s resolve, the full face of truth stares back at her. 

“I know,” Lena says in a low voice. Something hot escapes down her cheek and stains her blouse.

“Do you?” Kara whispers back. Those blue eyes, alien and human and Kara and Supergirl all at once, shine. Before Lena can move, Kara’s hands-- warm, gentle,  _ strong  _ hands-- slide over Lena’s wrists and hold her, as if she might keep Lena in place with just the lightest pressure. Lena knows she could. “Do you know  _ everything _ ?” 

It’s a strange question, and certainly not the objection that Lena had braced herself for. She searches Kara’s gaze for the answer and finds nothing but glittering remorse. 

“What else is there to know?” Lena demands, but she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t break Kara’s hold the way the bludgeon of her heart against her ribs demands her to do. 

The tremble to Kara’s lips reminds Lena of the scene in the DEO, when she’d come across Supergirl cradling Alex to herself and singing a Kryptonian lullaby. The unconscious agent was unaware of the alien stooped over her, crying out a sound of mournful love, and Lena had understood in that moment there was a fundamental difference in the bond between Supergirl and Alex than anyone else on the planet. That song acted as Lena’s guiding light, illuminating dark corners of her awareness until it shone garish and blinding on the fleeting answer. 

“Do you know,” Kara starts, whispering, as if speaking too loud might send Lena racing out the door. She’s still clinging to Lena’s forearms, not too tight but enough that Lena can feel the ripple down Kara’s spine. “That every time I have to lie to your face, every time I avoid revealing the truth, it feels like I’m carving out a part of my own chest? Every single day that passes and I can’t just talk to you about it is another day I hate myself? I don’t ever want to hurt you, Lena. I knew this would. I knew you would look at me the way you are now, and it’s the first thing in my life that I haven’t been brave enough to face.” 

Lena feels her lip twitch. Those itty bitty boxes inside of herself swell, and Lena knows if she doesn’t get out of that apartment soon, she’s going to erupt from the pressure of her own feelings and those falling timidly from Kara’s mouth. 

And Kara isn’t done. “Lena,” she says, and the name sounds like a plea. Kara keeps her gaze securely on Lena and doesn’t let her go. “If you know this about me, you should know the whole truth.”

Lena can’t imagine what other truth Kara might have to share. She stiffens as the woman still clutching her arms takes a deep, shuddering breath and lets some of the wetness from her eyes drip down her jaw. Lena has seen Kara cry before-- she’s even seen Supergirl cry plenty of times before that significant moment up-ended Lena’s world. But there’s something soul-rending about these tears, and Lena has to keep herself from feeling anything other than the sensation of plunging off a cliffside currently yanking her insides out from the bottom of her feet.

“I,” Kara says, slowly, carefully, and those eyes have Lena’s soul pinned down, “I love you, Lena. I have for a long time.” She takes a hand and wipes at her eyes, then closes them. Pinched shut, like she can’t bear whatever expression twists over Lena’s face at the words. “I can’t-- I can’t describe everything you make me feel, only that… I feel more at home with you than I have in a long time. At peace. Whole.” She shakes her head. “If I could choose anyone in the universe, it would be you.” 

Whatever little boxes have tried to lock away her pain break open and flood Lena with such righteous fire that she shakes. She’s angry and confused and all sorts of things that twist up into a breathless knot in her chest.

Lena wants to push her away. She wants Kara-- Supergirl, whoever she is-- to take this traitorous heart that flutters and aches at words of love she never dared to dream would form out of Kara’s voice. She wants to… to…

Kara makes a startled little noise when Lena roughly grabs the sides of her face and jerks her into a deep, biting kiss, so hard that it bruises Lena’s lip. Fire blazes through her insides, incinerating all of those boxes Lena had tried to keep contained. She kisses Kara with all of the vitriol that bleeds within her and all of the golden, liquid heat that ignites through her bones when Kara kisses her back. 

When she breaks, forehead pressed against Kara’s, Lena pants, “I’m still angry.” She’s still a lot of things, many of which she hadn’t understood until she tasted the regret on Kara’s lips. “I need time.”

Those blue eyes blink, still tearful. “I-- okay. Of course.” 

And then, because Lena is a glutton for punishment-- despite that this feels nothing like punishment-- she ignores the voice in the back of her head that tries to remind her of the lies. She ignores the fact that Kara is Supergirl, she ignores the dull ache lingering in her chest, because if she has to feel anything right now it was damn sure going to be the electric clash of euphoria before the rest of the world detonates around her. 

So she pulls Kara back down and kisses her again, and again, and Kara holds her and returns them all with the same feverish desire like she might kiss the pain right out of Lena’s heart.

Her nails dig into the skin at the back of Kara’s neck when Lena pulls away. She thinks she should get up, desert Kara there like any other Luthor would do.

Instead Lena closes her eyes and breathes, “Sing to me.” 

And maybe it means something that the first melody Kara whispers to her is that damn song. Lena doesn’t know if she should laugh or cry as the sound wells up through her with reverent warmth, uncoiling the bitterness in her chest until she’s filled to the brim by gentle, iridescent light.

Lena realizes she really doesn’t mind the lullaby after all, so long as Kara keeps singing it to her.


End file.
